There was a fascination to Juana in watching the small company of worshipers go to and from the chapel. One evening, as the melody of their hymns floated up to her, she became possessed of a desire to come nearer to the heavenly sounds. So, enveloping her head and shoulders in a large veil, she glided softly forth into the moonlight alone; her husband was down in the city and would not return until late. She was glad to go alone, though for some reason that she did not herself understand. She stole silently along, and stood under the shadow of the trees where she could observe without being seen. Now their heads were bowed in prayer. In the earnest petitions from one and another she often caught the name "God." She had never heard it in English. If they had spoken the word in her own language, though, no distinct idea would have been conveyed to her; only a dim, shadowy something that she had heard of long ago. Soon they broke out into song again: "Come, happy souls, approach your God With new melodious songs." Although Juana could converse in simple broken words in English, she could comprehend scarcely nothing of what she now heard; and yet the music thrilled and animated her. How joyful these faces and voices were, and yet subdued and tender, and they sang about "God"—that same name! Still she lingered as if fascinated until the closing hymn, that lullaby for trusting souls in all ages: "Glory to thee, my God, this night, For all the blessings of the light: Keep me, O keep me, King of kings, Beneath thine own almighty wings." And still they sang that same name—"God." If only the poor heart standing there in the shadows could know about the "Almighty wings!" Juana did not forget the sound of the new name she had heard—that Being to whom those people prayed and sang praises, and read about in their Bible. If she could but read English and have one of their Bibles, then she should know all about Him! Oh! If somebody would tell her about Him. "If those English people know about God, why should not Paul?" she mused, as they sat together one afternoon. Paul was reclining in a hammock, the smoke of a cigar curling far above his head, absorbed in a French novel. When Juana broke the silence by asking him if he owned a Bible, he answered with a frown, "Of course not." "Paul, could you tell me about God?" Juana ventured again. "Very easily," said Paul, puffing out a whiff of smoke. "There is no God. So you see you needn't bother your pretty head any more about that question."